All That Glitters
by Flare Warrior
Summary: Vulcans don't have soulmarks, they said. Well, that lie was keeping the riots at bay, at least. Or: The hard part of having friends from other planets and how everything can work out anyway.
1. Chapter 1

"That's downright medieval!" McCoy shouts over Jim's startled "What?!"

Spock eyes them both warily, because even though humans are notoriously volatile, these two are not usually quite so expressive.

"It...has been commonplace for centuries-"

"It's the most disgraceful, inhumane, archaic, uncivilized, horrifying thing I've ever heard of!" McCoy continues.

Jim covers his mouth with his hand, as is his habit when trying very hard to reconcile something in the universe with his world view. It is the particular mouth-covering of him failing to do so.

"Well. If. If it's part of the Vulcan way." Jim tries.

"You know what used to be part of the human way? Slavery! Torture! Chemotherapy! We wised up and damn if the Vulcans should have too! Good god man, I-" McCoy cut off and Spock froze in fear of the tears shining in his eyes.

"The procedure is not painful. The concept of a soulmate disagrees with logic, which the vast majority of Vulcans agree is more valuable. It can be seen as a distraction."

Now Jim looks like he's lost the battle with himself completely, as he does occasionally, and has rejected this part of Vulcan culture as vehemently as the doctor; his eyes are glittering in equal measures of endless concern and fathomless anger.

"Spock." he says softly, placing a hand on his arm "I can tell that our cultures differ here, but I want you to know that -"

"We're right." McCoy mumbles.

"That I'm here for you, if you ever need me." Jim finishes, with a sidelong glance at McCoy.

Spock looks between them in confusion. He had not expected them to react so poorly to the news that yes, Vulcans have soulmarks, they simply remove them in childhood.

"Did they at least let you see it?" McCoy asks tightly.

Spock hesitates, purely because everything he says seems to make them more upset.

"I was not old enough to remember it clearly." he says slowly.

McCoy blanches and Jim's hand tightens on his arm, the distress transferring though the point where hi hand is resting, which Spock had been managing to keep out, ratcheting up so high he can't fend it all off any more. Concerned, he settles his hand over Jim's wrist.

"Captain, Doctor, calm yourselves. Whatever soulmarks mean on Earth, they do not mean the same on Vulcan. No crime has been committed."

"No crime. No crime." McCoy mumbles, running one hand through his hair. "So you remember where it was, at least?"

"I am afraid that anything more I say will only upset you both." Spock says, glancing at Jim, who has resorted to tight-lipped frowning in the way that he does when faced with terrible situations. Like participating in arms races with formerly peaceful friends. Spock makes a mental note to research just how terrible this practice is to the humans, and why, and relate it to the counsel before it gets them expelled from the federation, as it is looking more and more possible that it could.

"Just-" McCoy gestures to all of him in irritation.

Spock looks to Jim, who shrugs.

"It can't get that much worse, Spock."

"It is the possibility that it could that concerns me." he quips, but relents a moment later and makes a broad gesture at the left side of his body.

McCoy raises his hand and opens his mouth, his expression turning irritated. Then he stops, his eyes once again filling with horror, and Spock raises his eyebrows at Jim.

Whose expression is also marginally more tight-lipped and growing worse.

"Are you saying." McCoy says tightly "That they lasered off your soulmark when you were a toddler, even though it was covering half your body?"

"Bones!" Jim snaps, like the doctor has been especially callous.

"Yes, that is correct, as is the standard practice for all Vulcan children." Spock replies flatly "Regardless of the size of the mark. As I said, the procedure is quite painless."

The room falls eerily silent for a moment.

"I need a drink." McCoy says roughly, and disappears into his office.

Spock looks at Jim, whose eyes are bright with anger and anguish.

"I shall endeavor to refrain from any further detail or mention of the practice." he says, not without a bit of accusation "If you would explain your and the doctor's reaction, I would be much obliged."

Reluctantly, Jim lets go of his arm and turns to walk slowly to the biobeds, once again covering his mouth with his hand. With a sigh, he settles on one of the beds and gestures to the one across from him.

"Sit, Spock."

Spock raises his eyebrows and resolves to leave them there for the remainder of the conversation.

"You still act as though I am distressed. I am not."

Jim raises his hands and hangs his head, making a sort-of imploring, aggravated reaching gesture with his splayed fingers.

"Please, Spock, I need you to sit."

Out of concern for his captain, Spock sits.

"Think of the worst crimes imaginable, Spock. To you. Whatever the face of evil looks like on Vulcan." Jim starts, resting his hands back on the thin mattress at his sides "Now take them and add a level of senseless horror that is truly depraved. For us, this is something that smacks of Jeffery Dahmer." Jim splays his hands out, looking at Spock imploringly "Soulmarks are sacred to most humans. I can't fathom how your mother sat by without going crazy. It would break me to see this done to a stranger." he takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself "No one's sure you can still find your soulmate without the mark. In fact, there's a famous story about a man who lost his mark and as a result, was cursed to never cross paths with his match. No one knows if that's true, either. And the other thing - the size of your mark is said to be an indication of how deep the bond will run. The biggest it can be is half your body, since your soulmate has it on the opposite side."

Jim runs a hand over his face. Spock feels awkward because he's somehow managed to cast himself as the victim of a horrific crime on Jim's world that, for a Vulcan, is about as traumatic as a hypospray.

"Jim." he says at length, reaching out to settle a hand on Jim's shoulder "We come from very different worlds. It is not always apparent, but we are of entirely different species, alien to each other. On Vulcan, a soulmate is not viewed as a sacred connection, or even an important one. It was often used to control others, in our warlike days. Most are glad to be rid of it."

Jim swallows and nods, staring down at his hands in his lap for a second to collect himself before looking up to Spock again with the searching gaze Spock can never seem to hide from.

"You keep saying 'most Vulcans'. What about you, Spock? Are you okay with it? Do you ever wonder?"

Spock thinks about this, but before he can form an answer he is sure of, they're interrupted by the doctor's return.

"I can put it back." McCoy says from the door to his office, a dermal regenerator in one hand. Spock quirks an eyebrow at him and rises to his feet.

"While intoxicated?"

"I had one shot to calm my nerves, you-" McCoy cuts himself off "If you'd prefer, I can get someone else. But I can put it back, doesn't matter how thorough they were."

Jim rises beside him, slowly as though arthritis had set in since he sat down, and gives Spock a weary smile.

"That won't be necessary, doctor McCoy. The mark is, as I have explained to Jim, not something that Vulcans find valuable."

"Like hell it's not-" McCoy bites off the rest of his tirade, stuck between endless frustration and trauma mode. He darts a glance at Jim, then continues tensely "Fine. Whatever you feel is best. But if you ever change your mind." he waives the regenerator about in demonstration.

After a beat, Spock raises one eyebrow "I assure you I will not, and if I did I am not sure I would trust your sobriety."

McCoy bristles like an angry cat and Jim ducks his head to hide his smile. They walk out of sickbay together, leaving McCoy to his computer, after another hour of strategic discussion, (or, Jim's poorly disguised excuse for the three of them to play poker), and fall into step on their way back to their quarters.

"Is it correct to suppose," Spock hedges, somewhat shy of the topic now "That this view on soulmarks is shared by the rest of the human crew?"

When Jim turns his head, the lights in the corridor shine over the gold markings that curl up the right side of his face. It is softer there than elsewhere though by no means unnoticeable, skirting along his jawline and cheekbone in swirling relief. Spock had seen much more in the gym, bright gold proud against pale tan skin, detailed like henna and covering his right side, tiny tendrils extended into the left, as if reaching out. His control had cracked, and he'd found himself staring, marveled.

Perhaps the human's ideals had some merit.

Jim's lips quirk, somewhat ruefully "That was implied when I said 'most humans'."

As they round the corner and start towards the turbolift, Spock's eyebrows draw together "I find it difficult to understand the doctor's stance on the matter, since he is a divorcee."

Jim is quiet until the turbolift doors hiss shut behind them aside from the solid command for their deck. He settles back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, contemplative.

"Bones has a flower."

"Pardon?"

"It's another special one. If-if humans ever chose to remove a soulmark, it'd be one of those, probably. It's like-" he raises his hands, index and middle fingers extended on each, and makes an awkward arrangement of them in the air "A flower, with eight petals, but he only has four of them. Two pointed up on the right, two pointed down on the left." he shakes one finger at a time as he continues, top to bottom. "Pink, green, gold, black. On him they're less like petals and more like really big, stretched out raindrops."

He drops his hands as the doors open and they head out into the hall of the upper deck.

"Some people have more or fewer. It means he has multiple soulmates. Jocelyn's was pink. I'm gold." he flashes a little grin when Spock's steps falter "He said he knows who black is, but he wouldn't tell me anything else." his smile fades a bit, becoming contemplative and caring "There's a lot of lore surrounding flowers too, but the gist is that the people who have them are too split to ever find completion. So together, falls apart, so say the poets. Flowers of sorrow, is the colloquial term."

They're almost to their quarters. Spock asks one more question as they slow, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"And you, Jim?"

"And me what?"

"Do you put faith in these ideals?"

Jim stops by his door, grinning almost shyly, a strange sight on him. "You've seen my mark, Spock. It actually meshes over onto the other side. That's new, in the world of soulmarks." He laughs lightly "I don't know what to expect, but I - yeah, I believe in it. I have to see if all the hype is real."

Spock purses his lips and nods, unsettled still. There are many things he must consider, and his information is disorganized and leaves some to be desired. As if sensing his thoughts, Jim quirks his eyebrow in the way Spock knows is supposed to be a mimicry of himself.

"If you don't understand something, it seems only logical to ask your question."

Jim's eyebrow raise is almost comically bad and borderline impish, so Spock returns a truer one that he wonders might be equally impish for a few seconds. Then he carefully folds his hands behind his back.

"I have witnessed you perusing other partners."

Jim's posture loosens and his smile returns, this time at least fifty-percent amused. He claps a hand on Spock's shoulder without cause and sends a jolt though Spock's nervous system with the gesture. "Well, I'm only human. I can't just shut myself off like you can while I wait, humans need affection, touch." Jim is a remarkably intelligent human, and it is only this fact that makes Spock question if he understands the way his statement connects to the absent way he's running his thumb along Spock's collarbone. "I really cared for some of them, but I can never seem to shake the feeling that there's something more. Even without my mark, I don't think I could've escaped it." he looks at Spock meaningfully, as if his aim is to reassure him.

Spock struggles to think past the electric sparks dancing along his skin.

"What will you do if you do not find them?" he asks, this one question more crucial than all the others.

Jim shrugs, his hand dropping away with the motion and leaving Spock somehow relieved and anguished all at once. "Then I guess I'll wait forever. Though, to be honest, I can't imagine having so deep a bond as to-..." Jim trails off, biting his lip.

"As to what, Captain?"

"Never mind, Spock. I'll see you on the bridge." he smiles "Unless you're still curious, of course."

Spock straightens, unsure of when he'd swayed so far forward, and waives Jim off to bed.

"Rest, Jim. Thank you for explaining what you have. It has been most enlightening."

Jim yawns and opens the door to his quarters "Anytime, Mister Spock. Night."

"Indeed." Spock agrees, then, at Jim's bitten smirk "Goodnight, Jim."

Spock waits three-point-seven-one seconds after the door slides shut before he turns around and gets back into the turbolift.

"Doctor McCoy, I have reconsidered your offer and would like to take you up on it."

McCoy drops at least three important things and spills his coffee as Spock steps into the room. Being silent is ever-so simple on the Enterprise. The doctor shoves a PADD over the spill, as if it will help, and doesn't do more than glare.

"What, that fast? What about my sobriety?" McCoy quips, then continues without waiting for an answer "What made you change your mind?"

Spock hopes that the lateness of the night and McCoy's sensitivity to the subject will quell his inevitable reaction to what he is about to reveal. He pulls himself up as straight as his body will allow and locks his hands behind his back, as though giving a report.

"Doctor, I am quite aware of whom my soulmate is, as will you be once you perform the procedure. As such you must-"

McCoy holds up his hands and waives them a bit, scowling already "Now wait just a minute, Spock. How are you 'aware' of who your soulmate is if you've got no recollection of what your mark even looked like?"

Spock's hands lock together tighter "Doctor, you must keep in mind that the lore surrounding soulmarks that you are no doubt thinking of was developed by an almost entirely psi-null species. There are markers that extended inside the minds of each person that are impossible to remove or conceal, and they are as recognizable to a telepath as the skin markings are to your eyes. I know who my soulmate is because I have felt it most acutely through the bond that formed between us. I believe at least the mythology surrounding the size of the mark has some merit."

There's a long, drawn-out pause in which they stare at each other, Spock impassive and McCoy squinting suspiciously.

"Alright then, Vulcan hoodoo it is." McCoy gestures to one of the biobeds, grabbing another shiny metal object as he stands and follows Spock over. "I'm just going to regen from head to toe since neither of us knows where to look."

"On the contrary, Doctor, I am aware of the majority of the exact dimensions, though I doubt they will be needed. I would appreciate it if you did not regenerate the markings on my face, neck, and hands."

McCoy narrows his eyes but nods, waiving for Spock to do as he was bid. Shirt off and settled, Spock addresses McCoy one more time.

"There is one stipulation I would like to place before we proceed."

"You name it, Spock. I'm here to serve." McCoy drawls, only somewhat sarcastic.

"You must not speak of what you reveal to anyone."

"Spock, is it really so bad for your soulmate to find out who you are?"

"On the contrary doctor, as that is the reason I am once again allowing it to be visible; However, I would rather approach the subject in my own time."

The doctor is quiet just a moment before Spock hears the whir of the regenerator starting up.

"Alright."

Less than thirty seconds after he'd begun McCoy shuts off the regenerator and leans both his hands on the biobed in stunned silence.

"My god."

"Indeed."

About five more minutes later, McCoy breaks the silence again.

"Oh goddamnit."

"Is there a problem?" Spock asks, raising his eyebrow though the doctor can't see it.

"Yeah, I found goddamn green."

Spock is unsure he is meant to understand what the doctor is referring to, and choses to remain quiet. He senses the decision is appreciated.

Spock tries. He really does. They're alone in the turbolift, once, and Spock opens his mouth and shuts it, just like that, and Jim is about to ask if something is wrong when Sulu and Chekov hop on and stand between them.

It is a surprisingly difficult subject to breach. Spock turns over the possible conversations in his head, trying to parse out the least devastating one of the bunch.

"Jim, I am your soulmate."

He has no idea how Jim will respond. He imagines a frown, the kind that was leveled at him when he was disappointing on Vulcan. It is illogical, as Jim has never succeeded at that particular kind of subtle expression. It's that image that shuts his mouth in the turbolift.

"Jim, after our conversation I decided to investigate the matter further. I believe we match."

A comical grimace comes to mind of the variety he received in the academy, usually in response to a terrible attempt at using 'slang'.

It's only logical that he wait until he has the least harmful (to Jim, especially, as he feels nothing on the matter) solution to their predicament.

It turns out he needn't have worried about it so much, as aliens and space have a way of making you lose your secrets.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

The girl can't be older than sixteen, her raven hair wild as she tears her own skin at the wrists trying to break free. There's a splash of red on one arm, not blood, too ornate, revealed by tattered clothing that was already designed to be minimal. The hulking orange creature with his hands on her chains yanks her forward roughly and she goes to the ground rather than follow, fire in her eyes. The creature whips out a knife - it gleams clean, unscratched silver in even in the cloudy light - and slashes into the skin of the boy trembling on his feet beside her.

She cries out louder than he does, and as he falls Spock sees the matching red on his opposite arm.

"What ya doin'!?" shouts another of the creatures, barreling over.

"Matchin' set," replies the first, gesturing to the pair now huddled together on the ground "easy to make 'em cooperate."

"Matchin' set, gonna make us rich." corrects the second "You don't so much as scratch 'im again, you hear?"

Jim has been generally outraged beside him for the entire exchange, and probably would have intervened on it or any of the other dozen atrocities they passed had they, too, not been in chains.

"What do you want? Money? Power? They won't give you a thing, you yellow-bellied, cold-blooded traitor- oof."

Spock Jerks forward to Jim's side as the man holding their chains - their most recent contact with the Elasian people, seven foot and thick like a tree with all the inherent immovability of one - pauses to slam a fist into Jim's exposed gut. Jim doubles over from the blow, their captor sneering at him and yanking his chain forward again.

Spock hovers at Jim's side, bound hands settled awkwardly on his shoulder against the warm, flushed skin of his back. Spock had decided when this shirt, too, had torn away like so much paper, that the integrity of his replicator was to be questioned. His mark is gleaming darkly in the grey-white light shining through from under the clouds, something that may or may not be of use to them.

"Are you alright?" Spock asks quietly.

Jim flashes teeth, a smile that is anything but.

"Never better."

"I believe it would be wise" Spock murmurs, stealing a glance at their captor "If you did not provoke him."

"I'll try to keep that in mind" Jim scoffs, but remains silent for the rest of the walk.

They slow outside a stick-built, dirty market full of people wearing masks and scarves to cover their faces, whether from the smell or the possibility of being recognized is unclear. Their captor raps on the wall of a stall and a slender Orion woman appears from the back.

"What you got here, Pjord?" she asks, eyeing them.

"'uman and a Romulan." Pjord replies, yanking them forward.

Spock bristles just a bit. Jim seems to be trying to locate his charm, eyes on the woman.

The woman settles herself on her own counter, rolling her eyes "Human, human, human, they're like mosquitoes - and thanks for those, by the way." she flicks her hair at Jim "They're just everywhere nowadays. Flooded the market, totally worthless." her posture shifts to aim more fully at Spock "But this one. I think we've got a bigger fish than you realize, Pjord."

"Oh. Why?" Pjord asks, blinking in confusion at Spock.

The woman smiles at him, her teeth too white and too sharp for her race.

"That's not a Romulan. That's a Vulcan."

Spock suddenly finds himself under two intent stares and one inquisitive one. Jim's eyes settle on him with a look of gravity, concern rolling off him in waves he doesn't need his telepathy to feel. The woman seems to be torn between eating him and making money off him, and Pjord is trying to tell what sets him apart as a Vulcan.

"Vulcan. Vulcan?! Hey, ain't there only a few thousand of those left?" Pjord shouts finally.

"Ugh, shut up, people will hear you. Bring him inside; I don't want anyone else to see him."

"Yeah, yeah 'course. What should I do with the other one?"

Assessing eyes rove over Jim for a second before rolling dramatically "We wouldn't make back the entrance fee. Feed him to the inue."

Jim tenses, ready to fight, but they're tired, already beaten once, and the man holding their chains weighs at least one-thousand pounds. Their shuttle is miles away and with it, all of their Starfleet-issued clothing. Even if they get away, they will not procure transport dressed as misplaced nobles. The odds are poor, even for Jim's standards of beating them.

"You are making an illogical choice." Spock states, breaking the tension of the moment.

The woman slides off the counter like water, coming to circle him "Oh? And why's that? Do you want me to sell him? I wasn't kidding, humans are worthless." she leans in to murmur in his ear "They're tissue paper for the poor's 'personal time' now, if you catch my drift." she leans away, smiling girlishly "Honestly, the inue is kinder."

Spock breathes deeply and raises his hands to the buttons on his shirt.

"You will gain far more for me if he is present." Spock replies, and parts the fabric.

Jim sees. Spock knows it in his bones, illogically, without needing to hear the sharp intake of breath.

He keeps his eyes on the woman, challenging, as her own eyes go wide with manic glee.

"Oh, Pjord, we've got it made."

The stall turns out to have a much larger basement, which is where they are thrown unceremoniously a few short minutes later. The hatch to the upstairs is left open so they have some light, and Pjord's feet haven't even cleared the last stair when Jim's wide eyes settle on him.

"You knew." he says, staring at his face and not the still-exposed mark, searching. Spock inclines his head.

"I have been attempting to find the correct way to inform you."

"There wasn't ever going to be one." Jim says, but there is a strange light in his eyes and a shocked laugh in his tone that Spock is unsure how to interpret.

"I would not have had it replaced had you not mentioned that you were waiting to meet your match, and I was not certain you would believe me without the visual proof. I had hoped to enable you to find peace in the knowledge and move on from it." Spock says, unhurried but sill somehow rushed into the air between them. None of Jim's reactions yet have matched expectations, and this is no exception.

The light dims to embers as his expression falls. Delight, Spock identifies in its absence.

"Is that what you want?" Crestfallen? Spock believes that is a lighter term for the apprehensive loss of Jim's smile.

Suddenly his data is flawed, the outcome unpredictable. He no longer knows which act is the correct one. Tentatively, he tilts his head just slightly and asks:

"Is it not...what you want?"

Jim's lips part and Spock feels like his world is narrowed, waiting on this one crucial outcome.

Then Jim jumps at a crash and a scream from above and the moment shatters against the real world.

"Later." Jim says, eyes alight with something mad and determined "Let's get the hell out of here."

"How?" Spock asks.

"You're not going to like it."

As a Vulcan, Spock does not make a habit of deciding a personal preference on anything. He finds Jim's plan ludicrous and strangely elegant. He suspects Jim does not like it.

The whole thing ends in a double hostage situation, with Spock as Jim's hostage of all things, and somehow, due to federation rules that the woman understands too well for a random straggler, Pjord as her hostage. Luckily Spock is able to time the bleeding of his own wounds ("This is the bad part, Spock, they'll never believe I'll hurt you now if I don't") so that he's mostly fine when it all goes on long enough to bring an away team.

About half an hour into the disassembly of what was apparently known as the East Market, Jim finds himself finished with his part of the work, wired, and with one Leonard H. McCoy in his line of sight.

"Bones!" Jim crashes into his friend with all the grace of a startled elephant, nearly toppling them both over in the process "Bones! Bones it's Spock!"

Bones takes one look at him and cracks an incredulous and put-upon but genuine grin "I know."

"You kn-of course you know!"

"Yeah, and he's green."

"He-" Jim blinks, looks over his shoulder, then snaps back with his eyes wide "He's green."

Bones frowns and shrugs, what can you do.

"He's green." Jim repeats, and breaks into a fit of laughter that buckles his knees.

"Hey, cut it out." Bones huffs, his voice shaking on a laugh of his own.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's not funny-pfft!"

Bones gives up and starts laughing right along with him "It's hysterical!" he says though fits.

Spock glances over to see them laughing like maniacs, barely holding each other up, and puts it down to illogical humanity and the mysterious flower connection he hopes isn't terminal.

Jim in his quarters is nothing new. Spock knows this, yet somehow it seems now more than ever that he is a drop of volatile color in the simple design of Spock's world.

"Why did you think I would want to move on?" Jim asks. The door has been closed behind them for two-point-five-nine seconds.

Spock curls his fingers just slightly, scolds himself on such an obvious nervous tick.

"I did not think I fit your particular preference."

Jim stares.

"You think you're not my type."

Spock raises one eyebrow slightly in response.

"Spock, this is exactly what I wanted. Every time I met someone I always came back to how it could never compare to-but you didn't have-"

Jim clenches his hands and grits his teeth and closes his eyes for a long moment. Then he exhales and opens his eyes again, locking shimmering blue on Spock.

"Forget about me for a second. What do you want, Spock?"

"I..."

Unreliable data. Outcome unpredictable. Two new constants in his life, once dreaded, now and forever tinged with anticipation.

Two steps, that's all it takes to close the distance between them.

Jim's lips are cool to the touch, infinitesimally so. Jim probably feels his hotter core more than Spock notices the chill, especial when his lips part and Spock presses deeper. Spock has kissed before, but he has not kissed Jim Kirk. The sensation is not unlike falling, so he wraps his arms around Jim's waist and holds on.

Jim's hands come up to frame his face, fingers splayed about his ears and buried in his hair as he surged upwards, the shine against his mind and skin bright and searing. Spock pulls away first but Jim follows, pressing short kisses to his lips, never moving far before returning, and Spock has no objection. Eventually, Jim settles back for long enough that Spock manages to speak.

"Is it what you imagined?" he asks quietly.

Jim laughs, giddy, his hands still buried in Spock's hair.

"I could never have imagined this."

Spock arrives on the bridge suddenly. His appearance is not unexpected except that it is, because the gold that covers his left side climbs elegantly to frame his eyebrow more finely than it does Jim's.

Jim's breath hitches at the sight. He's vaguely aware that some of the crew is staring along with him because they don't know the majority of the pertinent details. The shine of gold on Spock's fingers snares him, fill his mind with thoughts of how he could trace them and drive Spock wild-

If only they weren't just starting their shift.

It takes him the better part of an hour to decide that he will not do anything inappropriate on the bridge and make his way over to Spock's station.

"Captain." Spock greets, turning slightly to address him.

"Mister Spock." Jim replies, nodding to indicate the new designs on his skin "Decided to go all the way?" he asks quietly.

Spock looks up at him fully, giving Jim a wonderful view of the mark in its entirety. Spock's hands fold in his lap.

"I still have reservations about making it so easy to deduce, but I had thought you would appreciate it."

Jim can't fight the smile that takes over his face at the words. He leans down close to say quietly "I do."

And he makes sure he's angled just right so that Uhura can't see him brush his fingers over the marks on Spock's hand.

Yawning, Jim hands off command to the gamma crew and hops on the turbolift. He and Chekov are the last men down, and Jim's pleasantly not thinking about anything when the silence is abruptly broken.

"Captain, I think you should know zat I took a humanoid sexuality course at the academy." Chekov says, smirking "And I saw what you did there."

Then he winks.

The turbolift choses that moment to open onto Jim's floor. Jim turns, opens his mouth, shuts it, and walks away pretending the conversation never happened.


	2. All That Glitters, Excerpt: Black

He doesn't see the mark with his eyes, oh no - it comes up on the tricorder in a string of information: perfect health, slight malnutrition, augment, soul mark - back, black petal [image], raised levels of everything, an unpredictable bomb of a human being.

That last he doesn't get from the tricorder, he can see it just fine from six feet out.

The thing that kills him - really, really gets to him- is that there's no other mark. Just the one matching black brand that marked them as a pair to McCoy's menagerie of ruin.

He's supposed to be the one.

Not mysterious green, or Jim's striking gold mocking him from the other side of a swirling giant, or Jocelyn's pink so much larger than the perfect ring of orange around her little finger. This is the one that's supposed to just be for him. And he's a maniac with unclear motives and an edge like he could flick his wrist and destroy them all.

"Something wrong, doctor?" he asks calmly, eyes like ice.

Yes, McCoy thinks, the problem is that I am a walking disaster if you're what the fates think constitutes a good match.

"You're genetically altered." he says instead.

John, Khan, whoever, and isn't that just great, he hardly knows his name - he inclines his head and smirks just a bit.

"I am."

Somehow, just by sitting on it and curling his fingers into the edges, Khan is making the biobed look like a weapon, and McCoy wants to know just how a person does that with something that is bolted to the wall.

The worst part, he thinks, heart racing in his chest, is that he feels it. Standing in front of Khan is magnetic, it tinges the air and makes him lose track of the security team still in the room - but they're forces doomed if they collide, an electron and a positron set to destroy each other in a flash of light.

Khan looks at him like he wants to take him apart. McCoy is afraid that if he rails hard enough, Khan might move.

He grits his teeth and whirls away from it, and everything goes straight to hell and the bomb goes off with a bigger bang than he could have predicted.

So, fifteen years later when Khan is back on the ship ("We need him, he's the only one who knows anything about all this old weaponry - no I don't want another historian, I'm starting to think those are more dangerous"), he vows to try.


End file.
